


Shur'tugal and the Drowning Boy

by Solarisetlesetoiles



Series: Dragon Riders [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, Occasional swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solarisetlesetoiles/pseuds/Solarisetlesetoiles
Summary: Murtagh is haunted by strange dreams about a drowning boy. One day he gets the chance to change the outcome.





	1. Dreams and Caves

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have anyone proof read this story, so constructive criticism is welcome. There is also one character I made up for narrative purposes. What I mean by that is I wanted to populate the world and since the story takes place about a hundred years after the events of Inheritance I felt it would be easier to just make up characters. Constructive criticism on her is welcome as well.

The cave screamed evil. The whole space was shadowy and what wasn't was cast in sickly green light. The lake within was unnaturally still. In the center there was an island with a tall ornate basin.

Murtagh hated this dream.

He’d been having it sporadically ever since he turned sixteen. He was a hundred and twenty now. Much too old for this stupid nightmare in his opinion. But it didn’t matter.

Because the drowning boy and his strange little servant had entered.

When Murtagh had been younger, he’d though the drowning boy was a grown man. But he guessed now that the boy couldn’t be more that nineteen.

The drowning boy and his servant, a tiny bug eyed creature with spindly little limbs and a high nasally voice, climbed into a boat. It started to take them across the lake.

The drowning boy began to speak, giving his little servant instructions. The specifics were lost, because Murtagh didn’t know the drowning boy’s language.

It wasn’t any language spoken in the Allied kingdoms. Murtagh knew because Galbatorix, his loathed former master, kept trying to decipher it. It had given Murtagh a warm feeling when the old bastard couldn’t figure it out.

The boy and his servant climbed onto the island.

Thus began the dream’s transformation into a nightmare.

Murtagh wanted to turn away as the boy approached the basin. But he couldn’t, the dream, nightmare really, wouldn’t let him. 

And so he watched as the boy’s servant helped him drink the thick green substance in the basin. Helping eventually turned into forcing as the boy started screaming.

Murtagh knew what torture sounded like. A consequence of being Galbatorix’s favorite henchman. He was forced to listen as the boy kept screaming and crying.

Eventually the basin was drained. The servant removed a necklace from the basin and vanished.

The boy dragged himself to the edge of the island and stuck his hand into the water.

Murtagh cringed as a rotting hand exploded out of the water and dragged the boy down. He put up a good fight but was overwhelmed quickly. Eventually there was only a small ripple to show anything had even occurred at all.

A cold sad feeling swept through Murtagh. It had taken him years and a deep conversation with Thorn to realize it was grief. 

Murtagh didn’t know why he mourned the drowning boy. By all accounts the boy didn’t seem to be forced into the actions he took, and really only had himself to blame, but…

Murtagh grieved. Every single fucking time he had the nightmare.

***

When Murtagh wakes up he finds Thorn hovering above him. Through their bond Murtagh can feel his dragon’s worry. But he doesn’t say anything, only pushes himself up from his position on the ground and goes to the bank of the stream they’d made camp by.

In the water he can see his red-eyed reflection. His dark hair is a mess and his skin is sickly pale.

Murtagh ignores the sound of Thorn shuffling closer as he dunks his head in the water.

“I think you should tell Arya about the dreams” Thorn’s mental voice suggests.

“No.” Murtagh thinks back, “It’s just a stupid nightmare. Besides what is she going to tell me? That it’s completely normal to dream of the death of a boy I’ve never met?” 

He pulls his head from the water. “No, more likely she’ll have me caged up, because she’ll think I’ve finally lost my mind and has decided I’m a threat to the whole stinking world!”

Thorn growls. “She won’t lock you up. I’ll kill her before she does.” Murtagh let’s out a humorless laugh.

“Ah, and then what? You’ll fight the entire elvish civilization?” Thorn puffs up with indignation,

“If I must.” That makes Murtagh laugh for real. He stands up from the bank and makes his way over to stare up at Thorn.

His dragon is as large as a house now. Murtagh’s not sure if that’s the normal size he ought to be. Galbatorix had used magic to make Thorn grow unnaturally fast.

Murtagh supposes he could ask Arya, but he didn’t want to deal with her elvish half-truths and schemes.

Instead he grins up at Thorn, “Truly you are my best friend,” he says. Thorn sorts,

“I am your only friend you silly human.” Murtagh shrugs and continues to grin. In the morning sun Thorn glows. The light makes his scales glow like a million polished rubies.

Thorn lowers his head to bump it against Murtagh’s.

“You should tell Arya, these dreams cause you pain, and I feel sorrow that I can do nothing for you.”

Murtagh doesn’t have a good response to that. And a quiet guilt settles in his stomach. He knows Thorn only means well, the dreams are becoming more and more frequent.

When he was young, he could go months before dreaming of the drowning boy again. Now he cannot go two days without having the dream once again.

So he sighs and tells Thorn that he will contact Arya after they find something to eat.

***

Arya’s face reveals nothing as she looks at Murtagh. He had finally worked up the nerve to contact her and was now sitting with the mirror she’d given him.

Arya was queen of the Elves, one of the few dragon riders left, and not someone Murtagh ever wanted to be an adversary to ever again. 

After she, Murtagh’s half brother Eragon, and his dragon Saphira, had defeated Galbatorix, Murtagh and Thorn had gone into the depths of the great forest Du Weldenvarden.

Arya had found them, months later, and instead of the fight Murtagh had been expecting, offered to them a place in the Elven capital, Ellesméra, with her and her green dragon Fírnen.

Murtagh had declined because he felt the rest of the Elves would not look kindly on him and Thorn, no matter what Arya said.

Better to stay away from all civilization that having to constantly watch his back.

“Murtagh” Arya greets. “It is a rare thing indeed that you call me.” 

This was true; Arya was often the one who initiated their talks.

Murtagh didn’t begrudge her the fact. If he were in her place, he’d want to keep track of his deceased enemies favorite servants too. Especially if those servants had the power Murtagh and Thorn did.

“Well I thought it would be good to call you for once.” He joked. 

“It must be something worthwhile, if you felt the need to contact me,” she smirked.

“No, Thorn’s just been on my ass about this.” Arya’s expression changes into something politely curious. 

“Oh?” she prompts.

“I’ve been having this dream…” Murtagh trails off; he doesn’t know how to even begin to explain.

“A dream?” Arya repeats. 

Murtagh sighs, “yes, been having it on and off since I was sixteen. Having it more frequently now.”

“What is this dream about?” she asks.

Murtagh tells her. About the cave, about the drowning boy and his odd little servant, about the locket and the rotting corpses. She’s silent throughout.

“... and then he’s dead. Water’s still like nothing ever happened at all.” He finishes.

“That is…” she seems to be struggling for a word.

“Strange, crazy, a sigh I’ve finally lost my mind?” Murtagh offers. 

Arya shakes her head, “no. Just an odd coincidence.” Murtagh stares at her in disbelief.

“You’ve met someone who has recurring dreams about dead boys and deadly caves?” he asks with incredulity.

“No, but Eragon has told me of something similar” Murtagh's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

They hadn’t spoken about Eragon in years. The one conversation they’d had ended sourly, because Murtagh couldn’t contain his bitter feelings, and Arya wouldn’t stand to have her love insulted.

“You were with him when he rescued me, before the war?” 

Ah yes Murtagh remembers that, he nods flatly.

“Then you remember how he knew where to find me, because of the dreams he’d been having?” she continues.

“I remember thinking he was touched in the head,” he tells her.

“Then I believe this is something similar.”

“How so?”

“You share the same blood, and you are not the only one who has spoken to me of strange dreams. Roran Stronghammer, spoke to me about them as well.”

Roran was Eragon’s cousin, was Murtagh’s cousin too actually. Definitely dead by now, but it didn’t really matter to Murtagh, he’d never met the man.

“You think this dream is a prediction of the future?” Murtagh asked finally.

“Yes” Arya nods.

“Then why am I dreaming about it?”

“I do not know, but if you have been dreaming about it for a hundred and four years, then it must be important.” 

“I doubt it.” Murtagh grumbles.

Arya sighs, then gives Murtagh a fond smile, “keep contact with me. Let me know if anything changes or anything interesting occurs.”

“We’ll see.”

She smiles at him, “Farewell Murtagh. Give my regards to Thorn.” And the mirror returns to its normal state.

He heaves a sigh and rests his head on his knees. Thorns voice speaks in his mind,

“Well at least you are not going crazy.”

***

Murtagh was standing in front of a cave, but it wasn’t like the nightmare cave. Trees and other forest plants surrounded this one. There were vines hanging down from the top of the cave entrance. Sunlight filtered through the trees a deep golden color, suggesting late afternoon, near sunset.

There was a feeling pulling Murtagh to step forward into the cave. He knew with a dreamer’s certainty he needed to enter this cave. But before he could a step forward…

He woke up.

***

Thorn eyes him curiously from where he’s eating a deer.

“That is different.” 

Murtagh huffs. “No kidding.”

Thorn shoots him an exasperated look. “You should tell Arya about this.”

Murtagh shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“No.” Murtagh can feel Thorn’s disagreement. But he’s glad when Thorn doesn’t comment.

They spend the day travelling above the forest.

By midday, they come upon a series of hills, hills that are hidden underneath the trees invisible from an aerial view.

Murtagh and Thorn only come upon them because they had stopped for lunch.

Thorn, ever the adventurous one, wanted to explore the caves, and since Murtagh could never begrudge Thorn anything, they spend the afternoon doing just that.

Murtagh finds the cave entrance from his dream near sunset. He doesn’t realize at first, because the dream is near forgotten by then. But Murtagh feels a pulling in his gut and before he’s really aware, he’s moving into the cave.

Later he won’t be able to name what possessed him to do it, but at the moment, it feels right.

When he comes out into the green cave he thinks he’s dreaming. Because the same events play out. The way they do every single fucking time. But it’s different this time, because when the strange little servant disappears and the drowning boy goes for the lake and is pulled in, Murtagh moves.

He jerks forward and realizes it’s not a dream and has a flash of terror that he’s too late. He had known this would happen for so long and yet he still could not prevent it.

He lunges forward, not really sure what he intends to do.

“Jierda!” The spell rips itself from his lips and the water smashes backwards. Revealing a mass of moving corpses around the drowning boy.

Murtagh surges forward calling,“Brisingr!”

Fire lights upon the corpses and most of them flinch back. This gives Murtagh enough time to jump into the pit where the lake was.

He grabs the drowning boy, kicking away a few of the corpses that still cling to him. Murtagh flings the boy over his shoulder. He turns and sprints back the way he came.

Already water is seeping back into the pit. Several of the corpses try to grab Murtagh as he sloshes past them.

But Murtagh is stronger and faster. Even with the drowning boy’s dead weight he manages to make it back to where he’d entered.

With a great leap he leaves the pit and races back out of the cave.

Thorn’s worry flashes into his mind when he tumbles out the entrance.

“Where were you? What happened? You’re hurt!” Murtagh looks up at Thorn, speechless. The adrenaline of the moment begins to fade. Despite stinging pain making itself known in several places, a wave of euphoria rushes through him. 

He gives a loud relieved laugh, “I did it Thorn! I saved him!” He tilts the boy up to show Thorn.

“More than a hundred years I’ve been having that nightmare and I saved him!” He grins up at Thorn.

“You're bleeding and he's not breathing” Thorn’s words send a jolt of alarm through Murtagh and he lowers the now unconscious boy to the ground.

He isn't breathing, so Murtagh murmurs a spell to draw the water from the boy’s lungs. When he does, the unconscious boy gasps and rolls onto his side to vomit.

Murtagh leans back on his heels and watches. He’s only seen the boy from afar, so he takes a real look at him. 

He’s slim, and his fine dark hair is plastered to his head. His skin is pale and bruising where the corpses grabbed him. He has dark circles under his eyes. But Murtagh thinks that might be the effect of the torture poison.

The boy’s heaving subsides, and he stills where he lies, the only motion the rise and fall of his chest.

“This is definitely something you should tell Arya about” Thorn thinks.


	2. Questions and Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murtagh is suspicious and Thorn is the voice of reason.

Murtagh carefully lifts the unconscious boy from where he’s collapsed on the ground.

Thorn watches as Murtagh carries the unconscious boy over to him.

“We need to find somewhere to stay for a few days,” Murtagh tells him as he hefts the unconscious boy up onto Thorn’s back and then climbs up himself.

“Will you contact Arya when we find such a place?” Thorn asks him.

“No,” Murtagh says, “She’ll just want us to go to Ellesméra.”

“She isn’t planning some sort of surprise attack” Thorn chastises Murtagh.

“No,” he agrees, “but who’s to say the rest of the elves aren’t?”

Thorn hums and stretches his wings out. Then he launches himself up into the air.

“I think you are too pessimistic,” Thorn says. “You should trust Arya’s power, if not for her we would have been chased off long ago.” And he makes a good point. But then again Thorn always does.

Still, Murtagh doesn’t want to go anywhere near the elves, not if he doesn’t have to.

Arya had promised she would guarantee their safety, but the Elves had long life spans and there were more than enough who remembered when he killed their other dragon and its rider. Never mind he’s been under Galbatorix’s power at the time and hadn’t had a choice.

And they weren’t the only ones holding grudges; the dwarves had sworn a blood oath against them for killing their king, which was also unwillingly, mind.

So nothing less than a true crisis could make Murtagh go south. 

“But you should still tell Arya about the boy.” Thorn tells him when he expresses the sentiment.

Murtagh scowls and clutches the unconscious boy closer. “I think about it.” He tells Thorn.

***

Later, when they are back at their usual cave, with the unconscious boy settled by the fire and his own bruises tended to, Murtagh does contact Arya.

“Murtagh. Greetings. This is unprecedented,” she gives him a wry smile.

Murtagh huffs softly, “yes, well, you did tell me to keep in contact.”

“I suppose I did,” she responds.

Murtagh doesn’t say anything, just angles the mirror so Arya can see the unconscious boy.

“Well” Arya comments, “I see you’ve found something interesting.”

Murtagh gives her a tired look, and proceeds to tell her about the cave. When he finishes she’s silent for a moment before

“I think you should bring him to Ellesméra.” Murtagh starts to speak but she cuts him off, “you will be under my protection, you have my word you won’t be in any danger.” She continues, “I know you are wary, but this boy and you are connected.”

“And,” she fixes him with a commanding look, “from what you’ve told me, he’s practically drunk poison. I don’t doubt your magical ability, but he will have a much better chance at recovery if my healers look over him.”

Murtagh only responds, “I’ll have to talk to Thorn about it.”

He already knows the Thorn will want to go. But it does not stop the feeling of terror that rises in his chest.

“You already know my opinion,” Thorn tells him, “but I think you should consider the boy’s state as well. You have no idea what’s wrong with him.”

Which was true. The boy had not stirred once since Murtagh had rescued him. Even with all the jostling Murtagh had done moving him around.

Murtagh presses his lips together and scowls. He sighs, “alright, if his condition isn’t better by tomorrow then we’ll go.”

“Good.” Thorn hums. He then tucks his head under his wing to sleep.

Murtagh watches the rise and fall of his breathing. The light of the fire reflects of his scales causing the entire cave to look as though it’s full of glittering rubies.

***

The unconscious boy is feverish when Murtagh checks on him. He’s shivering and sweating and the dark circles under his eyes have deepened. The bruises have darkened and look nearly black on his skin. 

Thorn gives Murtagh a silent look. And Murtagh feels guilt eat at him. He wastes no time in gathering the unconscious boy up and climbing onto Thorns back.

They set off for Ellesméra immediately. The trip in tense, between Thorn’s quiet and the unconscious boy’s growing fever, Murtagh is barely holding together.

When Thorn stops midday Murtagh contacts Arya to let her know about the situation. She asks Murtagh to describe the boy’s condition.

“Sweating, feverish, shivering.” he tells her. “I don’t think he’ll survive the trip.”

“Take him to Osilon then, Fírnen and I will meet you there.”

Murtagh feels unease settle in his stomach. But he has no choice. “Will we be welcomed there?” he asks.

“Yes.” Arya tells him. “I will let the lady of the city know what to expect.”

“Alright then,” Murtagh agrees. “How do we get there?”

***

When they reach Osilon, and Murtagh catches a glimpse of Fírnen’s green scales flash in the afternoon sun, the unease he feels dissipates slightly.

As long as Arya is present, then maybe there is a chance this won’t end in disaster.

Thorn roars a greeting and Fírnen responds in kind. Then the green dragon dips below the treetops and Thorn follows.

Below the canopy, there houses as woven into the forest. The light has a soft green tint to it. Everything seems tranquil and graceful.

Murtagh is reminded of the light in the cave. But this place does not feel dangerous, just foreign.

Thorn lands and Murtagh climbs down, careful not to jostle the unconscious boy more than necessary.

Arya was waiting for him when he turns to face her. She’s dressed up, with a golden circlet upon her head. Behind her stands a contingent of Elves. They all looked austere and particularly disapproving.

Before the silence can get too awkward, because Murtagh had no intention of breaking it first, Arya steppes forward.

“Welcome to Osilon. This is Eryëd,” she gestures to a dark haired woman on her right. “She is one of our best healers.”

The woman, Eryëd, stepped forward holding out her arms. “I assume the patient is the unfortunate creature in your arms?”

Murtagh decides he doesn’t like her at all.

“Give him to her” Thorn orders, “you can do nothing for him.”

“Arya will let no harm befall him.” Fírnen interjects. “You have our promise we mean you no harm.” His voice is surprisingly deep.

Murtagh silently promises himself if anything happens to the unconscious boy he’s going to light Eryëd on fire.

He hands the boy over to her. His dislike growing as her lips curl minutely down when she looks at the unconscious boy.

She turns and several of the elves follow her. Murtagh moves to follow as well, but is stopped by Arya’s hand on his shoulder.

“We have much to discuss.” She tells him. “Your friend is in good hands.”

***

She leads him inside, the room they enter is big enough than Thorn and Fírnen can fit comfortably as well.

There is a map spread out along the table as well as a small banquet.

“I was certain you would be hungry after your long flight” Arya says, “Please be my guest.” She gestures to the food.

“I thank you for your hospitality” Thorn tells her. She inclines her head in return.

Murtagh says nothing. Thorn bumps Murtagh with his head.

“You are being rude. There is neither trap nor trick. Stop worrying.” He chides.

Arya seems to read Murtagh’s mood. “I do not know how to convince you I mean no harm.”

He shrugs and crosses his arms, “I didn’t think you did, but it seems to me you’re going to an awful lot of trouble.”

Arya raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean? Surely you do not think so little of me, as to assume I would go back upon my word.”

Murtagh pins her with a searching look. “What do you get out of all this?” He asks waving a hand around.

Arya tilts her head down and huffs a laugh.

“Ever the suspicious one, aren’t you? But,” she holds up a hand when Murtagh starts to respond. “If it truly is the only way to convince you. Then I decided that having your good grace was convenient in these trying times.”

“Trying times?” Thorn asks.

Arya smiles at him. “I do not know how informed you are of what goes on within the Allied Kingdoms. But the usual human power struggles are causing more disruption than usual.”

She fixes Murtagh a look. “It would be best if you stayed out of it, and if this will keep you so, I am more the glad to make the sacrifice.”

Murtagh gives a humorless laugh. “Well I have no reason to leave the forest, and even less to get involved in another war.”

“It is not a war.” Arya informs him. “Not yet anyway.”

“Will you tell us about it?” Thorn asks. “We’ve got no better way to pass the time.”

Arya smiles. “Of course. Take a seat.” She settles in one of the many chairs while Murtagh does the same. Thorn shuffles closer.

Arya takes a deep breath. “Nasuada’s daughter died last year. Making her grandson, Ajihad the third, king. The man is not nearly as suited as his mother or grandmother to the throne. In addition he has siblings, and many cousins who would be more than happy to wear the crown.”

“You think there is going to be a rebellion?” Thorn asks.

Arya shakes her head. “Not so soon, but in a few decades there may very well be.”  
She sighs, “no, the more pressing concern is that all those relatives are fighting and clawing for any scrap of power they can have. Nothing can get done because they are all too busy fighting amongst themselves.”

“And you think our presence would make all this worse? We have no interest in the petty squabbles of nobles.”

“Perhaps,” Arya agrees, “but they would use any excuse to foster their claims to power.”

“And we make the perfect scapegoats.” Murtagh says, “All they would need to do is spread a few rumors that we were out and about, then they are heroes out to defeat the greatest danger to the kingdom.” He waves his hands for effect.

Thorn snorts. “Ah yes, the man who thinks wolves are dangerous, truly he is such a threat.”

Murtagh laughs, “you wouldn’t be so quick to mock if you weren’t five times bigger than them, and able to breath fire.”

Fírnen rumbles a laugh, drawing attention to his presence. “I must say I agree with Thorn, I find wolves too tasty to be frightening.”

“I confess, I’ve only eaten a wolf once, Murtagh was rather distressed when I did, so I refrained from hunting them.”

Fírnen shifts towards Thorn, “Why so?” he asks.

“I believe they reminded him of dogs. Personally I do not understand the practice of keeping something you do not intend to eat. It seems a waste.”

Fírnen rumbles in agreement.

Murtagh snorts, but Thorn disregards him in order to ask Fírnen excitedly whether he finds his rider gets airsick too. Murtagh doesn’t begrudge Thorn this conversation. He knows how much his friend has wished to speak with other dragons.

Arya places a hand on his shoulder. “Walk with me?” she asks.

He follows her out into another room. “I hope you will not be offended by what I have to ask,” she says.

When Murtagh says nothing she continues, “would you be open to looking into the connection you and the boy have?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You were dreaming about him for a reason, perhaps there would be some connection to find within your minds.” She says.

“You aren’t getting into my mind.” Murtagh tells her. The very thought of letting his mental shields down in the slightest makes him clench his hands. He crosses his arms again. 

“Then we will have to try and find a connection within the boys mind.” She says.

Murtagh stops walking. He turns to face Arya fully. “You will not.”

She frowns, but he continues, jabbing a finger in Arya’s direction, his voice rising as he speaks, “A man’s mind ought to be his own, you cannot go rooting through that boy’s just to appease your curiosity! I won’t let you!” 

Arya raises her hands in a placating gesture. “My apologies, I did not mean to sound so callous. I only think that this connection could cause the both of you harm in the long run if you do not fully understand it”

Murtagh scowls at her. But another elf approaching interrupts whatever he might have said.

The elf says something to Arya in elvish.

She nods and he leaves. She turns back to Murtagh giving him a soft smile.

“You’ll be pleased to know the healers have broken the boy’s fever, now it is only a matter of time until he wakes.” She translates to him.

Murtagh feels relief wash over him. “Can I see him?” he asks Arya.

She nods and gestures for him to follow.

***

The room where they have the boy in is similar to the others. The walls are a soft cool green, with designs that are as gracefully beautiful as everything else in the kingdom of the elves.

It makes Murtagh feel dirty and clumsy and unsettled. 

The boy is slepping on a bed, his clothing has been changed and he looks far better. The bruises that were on his skin are gone and the circles under his eyes have softened. His breathing is soft and deep.

Murtagh doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting, but long enough for him to feel antsy. He casts a glance at Eryëd the healer.

She’s glaring at him, or at least he imagines she is on the inside. Her face reveals nothing and she resembles a stone statue.

A soft gasp takes Murtagh’s attention. He startles when the boy, no longer unconscious launches himself up.

The boy glances around disconcertedly. Locks his gaze on Murtagh and says… something. He seems rather alarmed.

Even more so when he sees Eryëd walk off. A truly baffled look appears on his face and he says something at her. She ignores him and he turns to gaze at Murtagh again.

He has intriguing eyes Murtagh thinks. They’re a stormy grey color, like steel.

Murtagh grins at him. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He tells the boy, and gets an even more baffled look in response.

He cannot help but laugh at it.


	3. Confusion and Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus is confused, but he's probably going to be okay

Regulus Black is alive. This should’ve been rather obvious, except that he isn’t supposed to be. Which is what makes the whole thing particular to begin with.

Also there is handsome and strange man laughing at him.

What Regulus knows so far is that he is not dead, the strange man does not speak his language, and Regulus has absolutely no idea where he is.

The woman, who had been in the room when Regulus first awoke, returned with another beautiful woman behind her. The first had thick black hair pulled up into a braid; she seemed older even though her face was just as foreign as the other’s. The second woman had shoulder length brown hair and a golden circlet upon her brow.

Looking at them Regulus realizes they can’t be human. They had delicately pointed ears and fine, if not inhumanly so, features.

The man turns around in his seat. He says something to the woman with the circlet, and she replies. Her voice sounds amused.

They continue to converse. From the sounds of their voices, Regulus thinks that they must know each other well.

He’s distracted from listening though, when the other woman touches him. She takes his jaw in her hand and tilts his face up to look into hers.

Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she drops her hand. Regulus hears the man speak behind him. The woman, a healer he supposes, responds her tone cold.

Regulus twists around to peer at the man. He’s probably a few years older than Regulus and very muscular.

The man grins at Regulus when he catches him staring, and asks a question. He looks terribly amused.

But Regulus does not find the situation amusing. He feels exposed and vulnerable, he’s not wearing his own clothing (which raises some rather unpleasant thoughts he brushes away), and he hasn’t the faintest idea what these people want from him.

The healer says something to the man and the smile drops from his face. He says something to her, his tone reminds Regulus of the way his mother speaks, she never outright says anything insulting, but her tone conveys it clearly.

Regulus feels, exhaustion rise. His eyes feel heavy and tiny pinpricks of light begin to swim before his eyes.

He jolts when a hand comes down to rest on his shoulder. The healer woman presses him down, and he doesn’t fight her. He can still hear voices speaking around him as he closes his eyes.

The man has a deep timber to his voice and Regulus focuses on the music of it. He finds himself drifting.

***

Regulus is drowning, he’s in Voldemort’s cave being pulled down by the inferi, his lungs burn and he’s so scared.

Then the water blasts away and Regulus is blinded by light. He feels the grasping hands of the inferi wrenched away and he’s lift him from the ground.

Then Regulus wakes to find the man leaning over him, a small frown on his face. Regulus’ hands are caught in his and Regulus realizes he must have been thrashing in his sleep.

The man gives Regulus a reassuring smile and Regulus tries to mirror it. From the look on the man’s face, he’s not quite successful.

Regulus drags his hands back and wraps his arms around himself. He feels lost.

When he had first woken up he’d called for his house elf Kreature but nothing had happened.

Now he has no idea where he is and can’t even speak the language.

Regulus is drawn out of his thoughts when the man places a bowl of what looks like fruit, under his nose.

He grins when Regulus takes the bowl and bites the fruit, it’s sweet and crisp. The man continued to watch as Regulus eats.

It’s incredibly awkward.

Regulus wonders idly what the man wants from him and who he is. The man seemed different than the women Regulus had seen earlier. His ears were normal looking.

He must have had some status Regulus supposed, because the man didn’t seem to have anything more pressing to do but watch him.

But his clothing wasn’t as fine or decorated as the clothing of the healer woman or the woman with the circlet.

Regulus decides if the man was going to be rude and stare he would do the same.

Placing the bowl in his lap he met the man’s eyes.

They were a warm brown. The man had the deep tan of someone who spent much of their time outside, and he had a day or two’s worth of stubble along his jaw.

It was attractive.

Regulus breaks eye contact and scowls into his lap. This was really not the time nor the place for such thoughts.

Next to him the man laughs. It’s a raspy disused sound, as if the man doesn’t laugh often.

Regulus glances up at the sound of the door opening. The healer woman enters and she scowls when she sees the man. She says something to him sharply. His laughter cuts off abruptly and Regulus finds he misses the sound.

The healer woman makes a motion with her had. The man shakes his head; she gestures again and says something. He responds and from the way he speaks combined with the shaking of his head, Regulus assumes he’s refusing whatever the healer wants from him.

She continues to scowl but seems to give up on whatever she wanted the man to do. Instead she marches over and as she approaches Regulus can see she had a bundle of fabric in her arms.

She places it down on the table next to the bed where Regulus sits, and eyed him for a moment.

Regulus straightens up under her scrutiny. The look on her face reminds him of his mother’s when she found something unsatisfactory and there would be consequences.

The healer woman grabs his face with her hands and turns his head this way and that. The man asks her a question but she ignores him.

He gives Regulus a conspiratorial grin.

The healer woman says something, but the words are different somehow. When Regulus feels a wave of magic wash over him he realizes she had said a spell.

He feels foolish that the thought of these creatures having magic of their own hadn’t occurred to him.

But she wasn’t using a wand or any sort of item really. A frightening thought Regulus had been ignoring finally made its way to the forefront of his mind. He had neither seen nor heard of these creatures. The magic they used seemed completely foreign to him. So perhaps he was in a different world entirely.

Regulus shoves that thought down viciously. He doesn’t want to think about that, he also doesn’t want to think about how it is probably for the best, how he can never go home.

So Regulus looks for something to distract himself. Fortunately for him, the man and the healer woman had gotten into another argument, while he had been distracted not thinking about specific things.

***

Boredom strikes Regulus mid afternoon. The man had gone… somewhere, and Regulus was feeling hungry. He’d changed into the new clothing the healer had given him, so now he’s waiting for...something.

Moving from the bed Regulus carefully gets to his feet. He leans against the wall to steady himself for a moment, before slowly making his way to the door.

He finds he can turn the handle and so he opens the door to peer into the hallway. It’s deserted.

Regulus has a moment of indecision, he doesn’t know where he is or the language, perhaps it would be best to stay where he is.

But his stomach makes the choice for him, giving a loud grumble. So Regulus turns to the left and walks down the hall.

As he walks he takes note of the tapestries and paintings along the walls. They were beautifully made, but they did not move like the ones in his home or those at Hogwarts.

There were pictures of battles and various people, whom Regulus assumed to be of importance.

He stopped to admire a large painting of, what he assumed to be, dragons. There were enough in that they looked like a living rainbow.

Regulus is looking at another picture, it is of a man and a blue dragon, when he hears the sound of someone yelling and running.

He turns to glance in the direction of the noise and sees the man running towards him. He slows down a few feet from Regulus.

He’s changed clothing since the last time Regulus has seen him. His dark hair had been washed and he’s clean-shaven. The new clothing suited him well.

Regulus is distracted from his (improper) starring, when the healer woman comes into view. She is frowning as she brushes passed the man to take Regulus’ arm.

However, instead of taking Regulus back the way he came, she continues leading him down the hall.

The man falls into step on Regulus’ other side as he asks the woman a question. She answers back tersely.

He doesn’t seem to like her answer because he stops and takes hold of Regulus’ other arm to stop him from moving too.

He’s very tall, Regulus observes, and then mentally smacks himself for the thought. But still, he was a good head taller than Regulus, who was an average height, no matter what his cousins said.

The woman says something and whatever she says makes the man scowl and move again. He realizes his grip on Regulus’ forearm and instead links their arms at the elbow.

And that is how they enter the room where the woman with the circlet is.

But Regulus is too distracted by the very large dragons to be embarrassed.

One is a bright Gryffindor red and the other a deep forest green. Both have far too many sharp teeth for Regulus’ comfort.

He tries to stop walking, but both his would-be companions ignore his distress as they drag him forwards.

The man even waves at the red dragon, and Regulus feels a jolt of terror as it shuffles forwards.

Hysterically, he wonders why these people had gone to the trouble of healing him if the were just going to feed him to their monster.

The monster sniffs him, and then Regulus feels a foreign entity’s amusement. It takes him a shamefully long moment to realize it’s the dragon in front of him.

He feels it tell him a word,

“Tyrin” this is accompanied by an image of thorns. Regulus feels the dragon’s gentle curiosity; he realizes it wants his name.

“Regulus” he offers back, along with an image of himself. He feels another thought from Tyrin, gratitude? Thanking, it, he, was thanking him.

He tries to copy and return the sentiment. From the amusement he gets back he supposed he has been successful.

Regulus feels the dragon’s attention shift as the voice of the man comes to his attention. Regulus feels Tyrin’s affection for the man, Murtagh, his name is Murtagh, and when the dragon feels Regulus’ own curiosity, gives him an image.

Regulus is startled when he sees himself limp and soaking wet being carried by the man, Murtagh. It was that moment when everything clicked together. This man had saved him.

Regulus stares at Murtagh in quite awe. He’s arguing, handsome face contorted in a sneer and hands waving violently as he spoke.

The woman with the circlet is watching him impassively; although her brows begin to furrow the longer he goes on.

The healer woman says something that cut his tirade short. He jerks around to look at her, face white and eyes wide, shocked. Then he says something quietly and he takes a menacing step in her direction.

She stiffens up, but before anything else can happen, Tyrin moves forward to intercept. His mind pulls away from Regulus’ and he bumps his head into Murtagh’s chest to stop him from whatever he’s about to do next.

Murtagh and Tyrin seem to have a silent argument. Then Murtagh throws up his hands and turns back to the healer woman. He says something to her with a forced fake smile on his face.

Her face doesn’t change as she responds.

The woman with the circlet steps forward. She addresses Murtagh; he crosses his over his chest and frowns.

They begin to argue again. But the healer woman interrupts; whatever she says causes Murtagh surprise, because the frown on his face lifts when she speaks.

His tone rises as he speaks. The woman with the circlet turns to listen to the healer woman. She asks about something and they start another conversation. With Murtagh interjecting something every once in awhile. 

Regulus feels awkward just standing and listening to them. They seem to have forgotten about his presence and he’s not sure he wants to remind them.

Wrapping his arms around himself he glances around the room. Tyrin was watching the conversation and the other dragon seems to be as well.

Regulus considers leaving; he half wants to go back to sleep and hope this whole experience was just a terrible nightmare.

But another part of him knew that whatever he returned to would be worse. He had gone to the cave with the intention to die. The dark lord, Voldemort, Regulus’ former master, reacted to traitors about as well as one could expect from a maniacal fiend bent on world domination. Which is to say, not at all, and even if Regulus’ deception had remained undetected, the only fate that would have awaited him was a life in Azkaban wasting away.

Regulus is dragged out of his thoughts by Murtagh’s hand on his shoulder. He’s maneuvered to stand in front of the woman with the circlet.

She peers at him and Regulus stares back undaunted. He isn’t sure what these people want with him, but he isn’t going to cower.

The woman with the circlet nods to herself, she says something to Murtagh, then turns away from Regulus to address the healer woman.

Murtagh gently turns Regulus away and begin to lead him out of the room, he smiles when Regulus looks at him questioningly.

“Murtagh,” he taps a finger on his chest, and then he gestures towards Regulus.

“Regulus.”

Murtagh grins, “Regulus” he speaks it with a soft accent.

Regulus thinks it sounds rather nice the way he says it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I'd love to know if people would be interested in reading more of this story. Leave a comment if you feel so inclined and have a lovely day.


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